


Pepper Me With Kisses

by IncipientAvery



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: AU, Angst and Humor, Awkward Pepper, Multi, blackpepper - Freeform, eventually kind of one-sided natasha/peter, sort of pepper/tony, the best combo
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-05-06
Updated: 2013-08-10
Packaged: 2017-12-10 11:52:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/785763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IncipientAvery/pseuds/IncipientAvery
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>From the beginning there was something off about Natalie Rushman, Pepper just couldn't put her finger on what.</p><p>A series of drabbles and one-shots on the progression of Pepper and Natasha's relationship.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Red

**Author's Note:**

> This fandom needs more BlackPepper, so I decided to try and throw something out. This is heavily AU, but I suppose follows the vague outline of the movies.

You are _sick_ of this work.

Your fingers tap away at the plush keys of the claviature, the keys are gentle, giving in against your fingertips and you’re grateful because you do not _need_ your calluses to get any worse. Having been doing Tony’s work, plus your own as his right hand (also his left, he couldn't tie his shoes without you) for years you should be _used_ to the pressure of deadlines, and making sure nothing goes wrong. You should be used to running a company, to making decisions, to taking the lead. You should be an expert at _Microsoft Word_ document and _Power Point_ , and everything should fly by with ease.

There were times when you were on a schedule of just a few hours due to Tony’s procrastination to wait till the last minute to do _nothing_ , and even during those stressful times you _still_ found ways to do it all efficiently, quickly, and perfectly. You still found ways to be everywhere at once, everyone at once. You could do it all, including forge Tony’s signature.

Now though, sitting in the big plush CEO chair, you feel too much on your shoulders, too much weight in your hands, you want nothing more then to sink into the leather, through the floorboards, to escape. You know reasonably, the only difference in work is the increase in board meetings and the fact you have to write your own signature. Sometimes you have to catch yourself, and turn the ‘ _T_ ’ on the paper to a very elaborate looking ‘ _V_ ’. Aside from that, there is nothing different, nothing that sticks out to yourself that would be the cause of the added stress--

“Hello …Miss Potts? You called?”

You jump somewhat, having not heard the door open. You have to steady yourself, pressing your palms to the cold surface of your desk, taking a quick breath to calm your rushing heart. Looking up, you catch the eyes of Tony's—now by extension _your_ —assistant. You told him no. You meant no. Yet, even though Tony threw you in charge, here she is, and you haven't gotten rid of her. Your own personal assistant. Yeah. That’s something new you can jot down in your 'reasons why this is different' book.

You had plenty of reason why not to hire her. Number one being you know this woman is Tony's type. Okay, maybe that was not the _best_ reason, the best would be that she could be after the Iron Man armor. If you over look that though, it goes right back to the red head being Tony's type. You knew it when she threw Happy to the ground like a sack of potatoes, and a sudden light shone in Tony's eye. The same look he gets when he finds himself a new toy.

That was part of why you told him no. Petite yet curvy, business-like yet practical, long hair in cute little curls, and extremely full and kissable lips. Yes, he likes tall blondes, but you're also fully aware of his not-so-secret lust for the short, sexy, not-blonde, too. Yes. That was why you said no. He didn't need another distraction. He didn't need another one night stand.

i.e; You did _not_ need another lawsuit.

You didn't care how good of a worker she could be, at the time. You just didn't want to hire her. Now that she has already been hired, you can't find it in yourself to fire her. And now that Tony barley even steps foot in his building, you've lost your only reason too. You can't even find fault with her work seeing as how she does her job so utterly perfect, that it almost brings tears to your eyes. So perfect, it's almost _too_ perfectly. You've been doing this job probably longer then she's been out of college, yet she does it like she was born too. It's like she manages to predict what you need, before you need it. What to do, before you ask her too. She's, not to be arrogant, practically the perfect version of yourself. Sometimes you wonder if she really is just someone from Legal.

Aside from the possibility she might be someone scheming to kill Tony, you literally cannot fire her.

You’ve only talked to her face to face a few times, (she only appears when you specifically call for her) most of these times were under bad circumstance, the majority of the time was either to point a finger or tell her to do something, and you’ve come to easily associate her with her controlled smile, and long, fiery red curls. The only reason why you caught her smile, was because it was one you frequently found yourself throwing around. Despite being able to find similarities among yourselves, you find yourself frequently forgetting her name. You're sure it's some kind of subconscious effort on your part--you think back to the times Tony would introduce you to one-nighters--but since you can't do anything about it, in your mind you just call her Red.

When Red blinks, confusion beginning to settle on her face, you realize you’ve been staring, haven't moved, and you still haven’t answered her. For possibly God know's how long.

You finally pull back from the table, settling back in your seat. You try to remember pushing the call button, all the while trying to appear with it, but your mind is a mess of a migraine centering around Tony, and work, and Tony and just _no_. “Um, no—wait, yes, yes I suppose I did, didn’t I?” Rubbing your temples, you cross your legs and pull open a drawer, trying to gather something together to give to her. You really just want to go home.

“Would you like some coffee Miss Potts?”

Dropping some papers neatly on the desk, you look up once again to see the red-head offering you a polite smile. It doesn't quite reach her eyes, or raise her cheeks, but it's nice enough. And coffee. You would kill for a cup from _Starbucks_. “Yes, yeah, that would be amazing right now.” You know it’s unladylike, and more then likely going to smudge your makeup, but you rub one of your eyes anyway. “I think I called you in here to get these to the department on the fifth floor… I’m not exactly sure, but this is something that needs to be done either way.”

When you finally move your hand away from your eye, the delicious, spicy smell of a cappuccino from _Starbucks_ wafts towards you, blinking in confusion you look up to see a cup awaiting in her hand. You look from it to Red, she smiles, this time stretching plump red lips, curling at the corners, revealing a hint of a row of pearly whites.

It’s still not reaching her eyes, and reminds you of Tony in front of a camera. But it's the prettiest smile you’ve seen on her. “I took the liberty of sending one of the girls from the second floor out to get you some coffee. I probably should have done it, but you told me to be at your office.” Her head dips down, eyes briefly scanning the papers on the desk. She nods, "This is most likely why you called for me, the fifth floor has been asking for these for a while now."

“I… yeah.” You're feeling torn, you can’t choose whether to stare at her smile, or the coffee cup in her hand. “Thank you, so much, I really need it.”

“Don’t thank me,” She leans over to give you your drink, you falter when her top dips down, your eyes fall where they shouldn't and immediately you’re flushed. The hint of black lingerie starts up your memory, and you think of Tony, zooming in on a modeling picture of her. Her name in the upper left corner. “It’s my job.”

Her name is Natalie Rushman, from legal, you remember. But as you watch her excuse herself, heels-to-toe, the perfect posture, the subtle confidence she seems to ooze as she walks, you can't help but think something just doesn't click right with you about all this. And you don't mean the nice lingerie.


	2. Alcohol

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Add 1 heaping teaspoon of BlackPepper to any plot, stir well, results may vary.

Pepper isn't normally a drinker.

She'll have her odd cup of _Chardonnay_ in the comfort of her home to help her relax, or a dirty martini with extra olives when with Tony to help take the edge off. It's really rare for her to bunker down and have more then a few drinks. That's not her thing, not her stress reliever. It's Tony's, and it's a bad idea, but after another stupid stunt, Pepper wanted to let off steam. Accepting Natalie's friendly, albeit perfectly timed, request to go drinking had seemed like the best idea.

"I don't know." Pepper had said, in a moment of hesitation, "Happy's off today, and it's probably not exactly safe now that the press knows I'm the CEO now..."

"It's not safe," Natalie almost chirped, "To go alone that is. I'll be there, and the place I'm taking you is really low key. We'll be fine, we'll get a couple drinks, and you can tell me what's bothering you."

It was then that Pepper realized there are two sides to Natalie Rushman. There is Ms. Rushman, her assistant, and then there is kind, and almost bubbly Natalie. For some reason, being able to see that side had made Pepper feel more relaxed, safer if possible. To go from a work persona, to laid back meant she was being open. Pepper was always able to connect easier with open people. Pepper was also a sucker for always saying yes, to nice people.

One thing lead to another, one drink lead to two, and suddenly it was hard remembering why she was angry in the first place. That was kind of how she ended up uncharacteristically drunk. Pepper knew it had something to do with Tony, Tony, something or other. Tony, doing or saying something stupid. But Tony always does something, or says something, or acts like something. While sitting here, Pepper couldn't help but wonder how Tony acting like Tony brought her here. Maybe what people say is true, sometimes all it takes is a lot of little things, not necessarily a big thing, to bring a tower down.

Pepper squints, her eyes trying to focus on the face in front of herself, soft lines, and red hair in tumbles. Through the blurs, and red lines, Pepper snorts. It isn't fair, it isn't fair the way Natalie seems entirely composed, and she had matched her drink for drink. At the most, a more then healthy rosy flush adorns her cheeks. At first, Pepper felt confused and mildly irritated, but that soon turns into shame.

"I don't," Pepper begins, her voice wobbly, eyes struggling to focus on the drink at hand, "I don't normally drink... a lot of ... _stuff_."

She trails off, waiting for the judgment, waiting for Natalie to realize the person in charge of Stark Industries is an air-headed woman. To Pepper, she feels like a high school girl, a senior, with a freshman, a perfect girl who's just waiting for blunder. She waits for Natalie to tell her she's in the wrong, or even a sarcastic 'sure you don't. Why Natalie would wait until now to complain about her drinking habits goes way over Pepper's drunken mind. Why she's likening getting drunk in a bar to high school, also goes way over her head. She just waits.

Natalie doesn't judge her.

Well, at the very least not with a crass expression, or even a shift of topic. She leans forward, props her chin into the cups of her hands and waits. Really, that's all it takes for Pepper to explain. Just a kind soul who seemed like she wanted to listen. It takes a while for her to find the right words, for her to talk without it all slurring together into a long stream of whimpers. But she gets the words out.

Her mind is hazy, and it's hard to recall what drove her to wanting to drink her problems away. Blubbering about how annoying Tony is, and how stressful her new job is, how all the board men from other companies are sleazy perverts, it's all stuff she had problems with before. Tony not answering her calls, Tony brushing her off and ignoring her. People from all over the company demanding answers and explanations as to why she's in charge. Somehow the whole birthday fiasco kind of brought her to this breaking point. Drinking herself into a fuzzy haze though, seems all so pointless now. Tony is always doing something stupid, this was really nothing new. Someone was always judging her, or asking why she was Tony's right hand.

Just a bunch of little things here and there adding up, and suddenly it took freaking Iron Man to make it all come caving in. No surprise there really.

Natalie watches her, studies her practically. She listens closely, seems to actually care, and that was what Pepper needed, Natalie nods, instead of consoling words though, she gently pulls the glass cup from her hands, "Do you feel a bit better, Miss Potts?"

Pepper smiles some, it's shaky, but its genuine, "I'd feel great if you'd call me Pepper."

Natalie smiles back, and Pepper wonders how she can seem so kept together despite all the drinks, "In that case, you should call me Natalie."

They slip into a bit of a comfortable silence. Watching the redhead toy with her lipstick stained cup, Pepper finds her mind slipping back to Tony's birthday, back to Tony, _always Tony_ , "Are you trying to take Tony from me?"

It comes out in a stupor. Pepper doesn't know why she does it, all the drinks have made her lips loose, and her ability to think foggy at best. Her sudden blurt seems to make even Natalie confused, if only for a second. She wants to take back the question, swallow it back down, the last time she suspected Natalie of anything was Tony's birthday. Not a long while ago, but still long enough to be (somewhat) under the bridge, since she hasn't attempted anything since.

 

 _Just because she hasn't done anything, doesn't mean she doesn't want too_ , a tiny part of Pepper persuades.

Natalie slips her finger across the top of the glass, her voice is even, "No, but to be perfectly honest Miss Potts, Mr Stark is no longer CEO. You are. You shouldn't worry so much about his wellbeing, as you should your own." Natalie looks up at her, and Pepper just feels like she's really looking, "You should come back to my place for drinks sometime."

Pepper exhales, it's soft, and breathy, and she just feels so conflicted. She's drunk, so her reasoning is down in the gutter somewhere, but considering that last thought she has enough of a grasp to hear a tiny voice yell ' _lawsuit_ ', and ' _this is wrong_!'. But Pepper just can't find it in herself to care. She leans forward, over the table, and she just wants to feel sexy. She wants to say something, or do something, and she just wants to show Natalie... something. Pepper isn't used to this. Pepper is used to people fawning over Tony, and flirting with Tony, and Tony, Tony, _Tony_. Hell, Pepper's only friend is Tony, at least Tony also has Rhodey. But right now, this moment, Pepper feels like maybe it's her. Just this once, even though it's not a very good once, it's going to be her.

Her, for what though, Pepper doesn't know. All she knows, is that it feels like it's going to be something big.

But somewhere between Natalie speaking, and her leaning forward, left her feeling queasy and dizzy and just as fast Pepper is pulling her hand back, placing it over her forehead. She sort of see's Natalie perking up, confusion etching on her face, and then things go kind of splotchy, and dark, and _oh_

  
This is sort of why drinking isn't her thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really want to see some Extermis!Pepper/Natasha, preferably a story line where Pepper has PTSD because of the whole kidnapping thing and she can't control her powers, and accidentally catches Natasha off guard, and Pepper's just really bummed and scared of hurting Natasha, and Natasha's kind of just like, "Did you really think you could hurt me?" and
> 
> asdfghjkl if I could I'd write it myself


	3. Gunpowder

You totally called it.

Natalie throws herself over you again just as glass begins to rain down from the ceiling. The crowd pushes and shoves at you both, but Natalie stands her ground and holds you up with finesse, and ease. She practically barks at you to get down, and in that instant you can see she never really was just Ms. Rushman from Legal, or Natalie your drinking buddy. Really, you aren't surprised. Natalie had been too perfect, her background was too clean, and shielding you from danger? There is no possible way she's just some girl from Legal.

She swings around, glancing through the crowd with sharp eyes and you somewhat just _know_ who she's looking for. Hell, _you_ want to rip the guys head off right about now. You know it's possibly dangerous, but, you've got a freaking company to run, and really, Natalie being possibly a, what, _spy_ is just kind of not your direct, or an immediate, problem. You spin around and make your way towards the backstage, Natalie catching up quickly on your heels. 

You mumble under your breath, mostly gibberish at the entire situation. As soon as you saw those horrible bots you knew they were nothing but trouble, and dirty-hands Justin- _Friggin_ -Hammer is of course the fault of all of this.

"What can I do?" Natalie meets you step for step, she looks up and you can see at this point she might just do anything you ask.

"Back me up."

You find yourself stepping up, asking questions, demanding answers, before Natalie can even start whatever interrogation she had intended. When Justin Hammer begins to step forward, claiming he has everything under control in the most douchebag way possible, you just want to throw your heels at his head. Natalie looks up, and you both lock eyes for just a second, and you can see the slight, mutual, flicker of irritation cross Natalie's face. 

Sweeping past you with the grace of a dancer, Natalie grabs at Hammer's arm, twisting it with a quick snap, shoving his face onto the desk with a harsh 'bang!'. Her lips pull into a bit of a snarl as she adds more pressure, and you can almost hear the bones in Hammer's shoulder grating together, the sudden aggressiveness from the normally passive woman is enough to make you shout in surprise.

"Tell me!" She growls at him, and you know now is not the time to be obsessing about unimportant things. But there is just something about the shorter woman, pinning a fully grown man by what looks like a broken arm, that is entirely too sexy.

You cough a little into your fist, trying to clear your mind. Not the time, not the time. Tony is out there somewhere fighting things, and there is the sound of people screaming for help in the background, and you're thinking about how Natalie is leaning down low enough to see her bra. Really,out of everything happening right now, maybe the confirmation that she probably is a  _spy_ means the most.

When Hammer splutters out his answer, Ivan Vanko, Natalie demands for a location and get the answer for that just as fast. With that, Natalie lets him go with a shove, "I have work to go do." She gives you a look, and you can tell she's gauging your reaction. Seeing if she can leave you here with douchebag-Justin Hammer without having to worry about your safety. What _really_ gets you though, is the fact she's letting _you_ decide if you're capable. Tony probably would've flown you away by now.

"I'll take care of this." She raises a thin brow, and you take your phone out, "I have this, go be super somewhere else." You urge her, and the _sliver_ of a smile she flashes at you is just something. You put the phone to your ear, and immediately begin the threats. Oh. You know how to play a good hand, you weren't Tony's assistant for nothing.

 

* * *

 

 

You feel like your eavesdropping, but that's because you are. Once Hammer had moved over you had asked a few questions of your own, easily hacked into his faulty computer security and went on a search to hopefully find something to give Rhodey back control of his suit. While you're not a master hacker, you're good enough to locate the computer Ivan had probably been using, and with little to no effort you're in.

Upon seeing someone else, on Ivan's computer, hacking into and moving things around. You manage to open up a face/voice chat, completely accidental, and Natalie's face fills the screen, a picture of tousled waves of curly red hair, cold green eyes. You release a tiny sigh, and this, you're sure of, is the real Natalie Rushman. All sharp edges, and calculating emerald eyes, this is her in her element, this is her real job, this is possibly her _life_.

You don't really have time to ponder about the real Natalie Rushman. Soon you're hearing the word 'Tony' and 'Dying' in the same sentence. You're close to crying, and things are exploding, and men in suits are doing things. Damage control, damage control, and then you're suddenly swooped into the air by the no-longer-dying man himself and you're kissing on a roof top like you're the protagonist to some cheap rom-com.

You can't help but feel this ending would have been more acceptable had it been with someone else instead.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was going places with this chapter and then it all kind of fell in on me agh


	4. Ledgers

“I have _mace_ ; I don’t care if you were sent by the president himself I have a _company_ to run.” You keep your tone level, you’ve practiced your poker face long enough to be able to stare a gun down without showing how frightened you are.

Slight exaggeration.

“No one is going to hurt you, ma’am.” One of the suited guys tells you, he smiles, and holds his hand out, palms up, treating you like a wild animal.

Maybe you are sort of acting like one, in this situation. You give the suited guy a dirty look, "You just yanked me out of my car like I was a rag doll, do you _honestly_ think telling me 'no one is going to hurt you' is going to make me feel better?"

"Ma'am, we're actually with SHIELD, we were told to tell you we know Agent Coulson--"

"Oh, Phil?" You perk up slightly at the name.You've only seen and heard from Phil just a little bit since Tony let the metaphorical crap hit the fan a couple months back. Apparently he had some things to take care of in Mexico, but you had a feeling he was trying to get a hold on the mess Tony caused. Much like you were constantly trying to do now.

The two 'Agents' share a look, "Uh, yes ma'am, ... Phil, so if you could walk in here for us."

Looking up at the incredibly dark, and musty looking warehouse you feel yourself bristling in irritation, "Do you think I'm stupid?"

Just as you go to turn around and storm away on your Jimmy Choo's with dignity and grace, a hand wraps around your arm, and you're shoved inside. You squawk indignantly when they push you back, slamming huge, heavy metal doors in your face. You try to scramble back through the door, but its huge, and metal, and kind of threatening looking so all you can really do is watch it slam shut. You’re beginning to think maybe you’re in a bit of a pickle. What if they aren’t related to SHIELD and they just killed some poor saps and took their finely tailored suits?

Before you can ponder anymore you hear the click of heavy boots crossing the floor. Panic begins to settle in, but you _know_ that's what they want. To see you squirm, scared. You take a deep breath, throw your shoulders back. _I am Virginia Potts,_ you tell yourself, _I eat balding men for breakfast._

You're not surprised this decided to all go down now. After the Justin Hammer thing at the Stark Expo, it seemed to be a calling card for all bad guys to now try to personally screw with Tony's life. Which usually dragged _you_ in because you're female, and _with_ Tony so obviously you're together and _obviously_ that means to get Tony to cooperate they have to get the one he loves. And—really the entire scenario just makes you want to punch something. Because what about the thousands of one-night stands they could pick from? Oh, no, let's get the one who has a  _company to run_.

You swing around, ready to give whoever it is a piece of your mind. Ready to remind them exactly _who_ they kidnapped. Sure, they probably know already, otherwise you wouldn't be here. But maybe reminding them that kidnapping Tony (i.e) Iron Man's (illeged) Girlfriend is a horrible, horrible idea. And it's just going to end in bloodshed, and Tony's laughter. You open your mouth, a speech worth at least one powerpoint presentation on your lips and--

You were not expecting this.

She walks with purpose, hips swaying; shoulders thrown back, confidence oozing off of her the same way it did when she wore stilettos and pencil skirts and hair clips, only now it’s tight jeans and combat boots and black leather. You wouldn’t mistake those red curls for anyone, even with the huge almost ridiculous looking shades resting on her petite nose.

She stops her strut once she’s close enough, which there is still a few feet between you both, and she stands rigid still. The air of grace is still around her, but she’s so ram-rod straight you’re almost afraid at some point Fury or whatever his name is shoved a pole through her spine. The sexuality that she used to radiate seems more then lacking, not that she isn't sexy, _god no_ not that. It's just, not as overwhelming as it had once seemed, you wonder if that was all a façade too. Every giggle, and secret smile, even the way she made you feel as if just possibly she had a thing for you.

Is it possible to be that skilled? You wonder. But looking at this almost flawless person before yourself, you know it probably is.

She doesn’t remove her shades, she doesn’t produce magical flowers from a random hammer space, she merely clears her throat, tilting her head slightly to look at you, or maybe just tilting her head to get your attention.

“I’m sorry.”

She’s _sorry_.

You’re furious with her, with Red, with Natalie, Natasha _Romanov_. You had trusted her, and she scoffed at you, and threw that trust back in your face. She’d seen you at your weakest, she's seen you stressed, and furious, and happy, and so sad that you cried. She's brought you your favorite coffee, and told you words of encouragement after Tony had made an ass of himself for the billionth time.

Yet all you’ve seen is her façade in return. She kept life threatening information about Tony from you, she tried to seduce Tony your only family, and when that didn’t work she tried to screw with your mind and when _that_ didn’t work she risked her life for you and thankfully you’re still alive but—

Yeah. When you get to that part it always makes the anger simmer down a bit.

Angry isn’t a good look on you, you tend to get a little splotchy from unshed tears of frustration, and it especially isn’t a good look _especially_ when the person is sorry, and didn’t actually mean harm to come to Tony. Or well, you either you suppose. You were just unintended collateral for her job. Since that’s all anything was to her, a job obviously.

It hurts, so much so you might just go home and cry with a bottle of Chardonnay but well, you’re used to being stepped on, and used, and hurt unintentionally. You were Tony’s PA for several years, his bed warmer, his maid, the clean up crew. You're still CEO, and you still have to deal with Tony, so you're still used to bitter disappointment.

So you shrug kind of weakly, a pinched smile coming to your lips. “Was all of this,” You gesture to the run down, dusty building around you, and thrust a thumb over your shoulder at the door where the armored guys left through. “--really necessary? You couldn’t just _call_?”

Her lips purse the slightest bit, and before she speaks, she licks her lips slowly, you try not to follow the movement with your eyes. You fail. “Would you have answered my calls?”

Her question sounds rhetorical, but screw it you don’t care, “Probably not.” You can literally imagine yourself had she called; you would’ve debated over picking up the phone, seething that she couldn’t just talk to you in person. ‘ _What_ ’ you would’ve thought, ‘ _You got what you wanted now you can’t talk to me in person_?’

But now that she’s standing before you, in person, you’re not really sure you’re pleased with this either. You feel intimidated if anything. You watch her lazily run fingers through her hair, replacing her obnoxious shades. She shrugs her shoulders, and you actually envy the way she makes it look so graceful.

“I thought as much.”

You don’t like the slightly indignant tone of voice she uses, like a teenager with an attitude problem. Or maybe you’re on edge and just imagined it that way. Really, thinking of someone like Red, Natalie, _Natasha_ , acting like an indignant teenager seems far fetched. Either way, you can’t help but scowl slightly.

“Yes, well, I don’t exactly like being lied too.”

She doesn’t flinch, but some part of you is saying that was a bit of a low blow. It’s just her job. She said sorry for doing her _job_. But then again, maybe she’s used to stuff like this happening—Except you don’t see her as the kind of person to apologize to the innocents involved with every one of her jobs. Which makes you wonder, are you just special to her?

You might have considered yourself _friends_ with her, before she started laying it on thick with her seduction plan. Hell, you _were_ friends. She would offer to bring you coffee, and you would insist she stay and have some with you. Maybe if you hadn’t of been so chicken you would’ve asked her out on a coffee _date_. But Tony, and work and Tony. You bite your lip so hard you’re scared you might actually bleed. When you’re around Natal— _Natasha_ you frequently find yourself thinking things like that.

Now you’re feeling really bad about what you said.

“You can’t blame me.” You argue back, weakly at that, whether you’re talking to yourself or not you don’t know, choosing to stare at the ground.

“No, I can’t.” She agrees with you and once again you feel whatever little bit of anger in you simmering down yet again.

You wait about one beat before blurting, “What are the shades for?”

You don’t want silence, and this is beginning to border on awkward, and she’s just standing there with her obnoxious shades. Unmoving, unflinchingly, she looks even more like stone with her shades on. She says nothing, and for some unholy reason you find yourself walking towards her. For a moment, you feel like you’re walking with purpose, towards your own death. She doesn’t move and when you stop in front of her, your hands immediately raise to grab her shades.

You hesitate, not knowing where this came from, and when she doesn’t stop you or hurt you it spurs you on until your plucking them from her dainty face. You gasp when you see the giant baseball sized bruise over her eye. It’s swollen and purple and her other eye is trained on you, as if trying to size you up.

“What happened?”

“I needed to be persuaded to do this.”

You pause, trying to piece together what ‘this’ is, and then your eyes narrow and you take a step back, “You didn’t want to come apologize, someone made you?”

Her lips purse again, and you’re pretty sure that’s what she does when her patience is wearing thin. She cuts her gaze to you, and you find yourself flinching backwards, “I wanted to apologize, that is why I’m here. I just… needed a helping hand. I have a lot of red in my ledger, and sometimes I forget that it isn’t easy wiping it out, even the tiniest of smudges.”

You don't want to dwell on just how much red is in her ledger.

“I forgive you, you know.” You don’t know where the words came from, but seeing the red-head somber and regretful looking made the words slip out. “I’m pretty sure I forgave you instantly, as unbelievable as that sounds, the moment I found out it was for your job. It’s not like you’re some crazed lunatic who decided on whim to attempt to kill Tony, or break me and Tony apart. That ship sailed all on it’s own.”

You wave your hand, not sure where that sudden admission came from. It just felt easy to say, like you were meant too. You try to gauge her reaction, only to see her looking at you, like she's trying to gauge yours.

“You’re not dating?”

A short, awkward giggle bubbles up, fizzles over your lips, “Oh, no. What, do you think I change my facebook status everytime I kiss a guy?” You blush, feeling stupid for bringing up facebook and for feeling kind of foolish for that kiss still. It was just… so emotional. You were glad he was okay. People get caught up in the moment. You do love Tony, and Tony is the main reason why you haven’t tried dating, but you’ve tried off and on to tame him and it just doesn’t work.

Natasha Romanov, the spy, the SHIELD employee actually looks you up and down, a slow smile spreads, prettily might you add, on her face. The same smile she’d give you in your office, the one that messed with your head. “You didn’t seem like the kind of girl to kiss and tell.”

You’re not sure when this conversation switched to flirty, playful banter. Its weird. One minute she's cold and calculating, hard to read, the next she's somber and mournful, and now? This. You're not sure when it did, but it did, and here you are, and you don’t know what to do. You’re not even sure she’s flirting with you. She could just be smiling at something that isn’t there.

You’re a coward though. Just like you were with Tony. So you place the glasses gently back on her nose, and with a smile you shrug, “I’m not.” You’re fighting to keep your eyes from her full red lips. Which are so full, and candy apple red. She might prefer the term blood red though. And honest to god if you could you would just lean in and--

_Keep it together, Potts!_

There isn’t a lull in conversation, she easily continues, without missing a beat, “I might see you again, you know, one day. You are involved with a potential superhero, no matter how nice he doesn’t play.” Her smile changes to a quirk of the lips, and you feel a slight ache in your chest.

“That would be…” _Wonderful. Great. Amazing. I’m going to miss you. Call me._  “Nice.”

She holds her smirk, and you don’t ask where she’s going when she turns and walks back into the shadows. She wouldn’t have told you anyways.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I need a better spell/grammar-check


	5. Coffee

Apparently Natasha had been assigned to keep an eye on your not-quite-Hero of a man, Tony Stark.

Or well, that's what you're going to assume. Why else would she still be lurking around?

You run into her one day, months from your last encounter, (not like it _wasn't_ still fresh in your mind), but it had been quite surprising. A part of you, a strange, silly little part, kind of thought you'd never see her again. That was where most of your surprise came from. Honestly, anyone would be surprised, seeing a so called 'super spy' making her ‘rounds’ at a local grocery store. You had been looking to replace the coffee and creamers, and while you could've gotten anyone else to do it, you wanted an excuse to get out. Of course Happy was somewhere in the store, letting you browse the dairy aisle by yourself.

You'd turned a corner too sharp, thought you were merely seeing things. In fitted black yoga pants and a red tank top, hair pulled up haphazardly in a perfect messy bun, a baseball cap with some unknown team on it. You hadn't thought to see Natasha _here_ of all places. Maybe in an alley way somewhere, or in someones basement after another kidnapping. But at freaking  _Target?_ Natasha hadn't been surprised to see you, a mere 'Oh, hi' as if she had been expecting you the entire time. You don't recall what you said, you only remember gripping the creamer in your hands tightly, spluttering something about how you really just wanted a coffee, and _'wow those yoga pants look soft'._

 Somehow that had led you both to coffee. Not quite the coffee  _date_ you wanted, just ... coffee.

You with your tight pencil skirt, and her, with her flip flops.

“So," You found yourself speaking over the rim of your cup, watching the way she mixes a packet of sugar into her own. "You know someone who was directly involved with the Norse God incident?”

Of course that isn’t the only news shaking up at SHIELD lately. Captain America the frozen ‘capsicle’ as Tony put it was also there doing things and stuff, but the ‘Norse God’ incident had been more directly related to Natasha and therefore you had been more privy to reading about it when Tony offered it up to you. He does that. Hack into SHIELD and draw you in by flashing the words 'spy'. Sometimes it's about others, but usually he's good at catching things related to Natasha. 

While you could hate the man sometimes, you had to admit he knew how to get your attention. Whether it was by throwing a horrible party to cover his death, or by sharing pictures from Natasha's falsified time as a lingerie model (that actually had been real(and quite fantastic if you do say so yourself)). While you weren't really privy to learning things about the spy  _not_ directly from her, well, when something is flashed at you, you can't really help but want to read it.

Natasha’s thin eyebrows pucker, her lips pulling into a thin line. “Stark is hacking our databases again.” She doesn’t ask, she states as she holds her cup in her hand.

You shrug, smiling secretly to yourself behind your  _Starbucks_  cup, “He’s still bitter about being told he doesn’t play nice.”

She sighs, her hand moves to brush through her hair but she’s apparently forgetting the tacky baseball cap she had slipped on in order to sneak her way into the tower later (information, courtesy of Natasha). Scowling, she tugs at it, and you watch in enthralled fascination as what was once long red curls fall in a soft wave of shoulder length red hair. 

It's different, but you immediately like this haircut. It reveals more of her neck, the single mole that resides there, and it fits her petite body. It’s sexy, and so uniquely  _her_ and all you really want to do is run your fingers through it. Tug at soft locks, tilt her head back, maybe nip at her neck a little. You resist the temptation, choosing just to watch longingly from afar, in a really not creepy way. Pepper Potts does not do creepy looks. Just something that is sort of borderline admirational. 

A single eyebrow ticks up, and you become aware Natasha had been speaking at some point, possibly. “Miss Potts?”

“I, um,” You were totally caught. Or maybe not. You just have to say something pertaining to the situation. “You cut your hair.” Lovely, Captain Obvious.

She nods, and the somewhat smug expression on her face just registers to you as adorable. “Yes, it’s good to shake it up every now and then."

You watch her play with the ends of her hair, looking off into the distance and you wonder if she actually liked her longer hair better. Her new haircut isn’t unfeminine, and it isn’t like it doesn’t match her, but maybe she just liked it the other way. Maybe hacking off several inches was difficult. You know it would be for you. But its also difficult for you to try different shades of nailpolish. When something just works for you for so long, it's just kind of annoying having to change. You also know, obviously, being a spy is hard, but when you look at her you wonder how much she had to give up, how much she  _has_ to give up, in order to keep going. You fiddle with the cardboard around your cup for a second before you find yourself blurting,

“It looks good.” She looks at you, silently, as if confused, so you continue, “The haircut, it suits you, it’s nice, it’s…” You save yourself by taking a long, burning sip of the coffee you were drinking. The word ‘sexy’ burns away along with the remainder of your taste buds. It's not like you're going to be needing them anytime soon.

She smiles, though it's somewhat reserved, small, "Thank you. So, aside from Tony making our lives hell back at SHIELD, how is it going for you?"

And that question kind of leaves to the unwrapping of the tightly wound web of irritation that had been festering in you for the past three weeks. Tony is starting to make and 'collect' IronMan armor like a kid with fucking baseball cards, and he's leaving chunks of metal all over the place. Natasha doesn't seem shocked by that, and while it kind of bothers you that she seems to know what you're talking about before you complain, you continue on. Happy is starting to become five times as overprotective, and this all kind of started after she flipped him straight on his back.

You're certain Happy is flinching somewhere close by, considering the little ear piece thing he always has you wear, and as you say this Natasha just laughs but to you, it's really not that funny. You're also annoyed with how you're starting to age, and then there's Tony again, and crap, did you mention Tony? Natasha just listens to it all, and while she doesn't pity you, or try to calm you down from your fiery rage, really just ranting at her like the old days is kind of calming. The only difference is your pain is apparently very funny to her.

Before you know it, you're twenty minutes past your allotted for thirty minute break. Happy is probably grumbling in the front seat, and you  _know_ you have a company to run. As if your thoughts have opened some psychic dam, your phone begins buzzing violently with text after text. Tony and Happy, and even fucking  _JARVIS._ You flip your phone open, sending a small apologetic smile to Natasha, it's time to go and you barely know how she herself is doing. She nods, seeming to get the hint as she rises from her seat, 

As she leaves, a sway in her step, she pauses suddenly, looking over her shoulder, “Miss Potts?”

You glance up from your phone, trying not to pay too much attention to her leaving, so when she's gone you don't feel as bad. “Yes?”

“Stop hacking into our databases. I could just call you to tell you how I’m doing you know.”

Your jaw flops open somewhat ungracefully, your eyes widen to the size of dinner plates. You don’t recall saying or doing anything to give yourself away, and technically it was Tony’s fault for leaving their database open, and flashing them around, and 'Pepper' this, 'Hey Pep, check this out' that, not to mention 'hey this thing has a thing about the red head'. Sure you had to score through things, and hack into stuff, you aren’t Tony’s best friend for nothing. Really though, you take blame for things that are actually your fault, and this isn't your fault. It's Tony's. And partially Natasha's for being so--Not the time.

“I—What, when did I say I did anything?” You put your cup down, and try to act nonchalant, but by the way Natasha's eyes seem to twinkle, and her lip sort of twitches up like she's trying to hold back a smile, you know it's probably obvious you're somewhat freaking out.

“Oh, it really  _was_ you?” She’s blinking at you as if she didn’t _actually_ know, and you curse not-exactly-under your breath because she mind fucked you into that trap. When she laughs though, it’s airy and unabashed, and so open and honest. You blush, feeling embarrassed and a bit horrified for being caught being a total creeper. Like wow, you technically were shadowing her every move. 

She runs a hand through her hair, grinning all the while. Like this is just some really fun game, and you just really want to crawl under a rock possibly. “I can keep in touch a little better. Fury is being more linnet, especially now that I’ve done a big job for him.” She walks back, and hesitates near you. Unsure of what to do you just watch, until she’s pulling at your hand with her own, and quickly scrawling down a number. All the while you're screaming in your own head, hoping to god she can't feel your pulse through your fingertips. “Make sure you memorize it, don’t save it in your phone. I trust you enough to do that, right?”

You take one look into her green eyes and know that she’s serious. One look at your palm and you’re already smiling at her. The embarrassment of the situation is kind of shadowed by this bigger, newer _, 'omfg her number'_ -emotion, that sort of swells in your chest.  “Already done. I wasn’t Tony’s PA for nothing.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> awkward pepper? more like seventeen year old girl pepper. i'm sorry


	6. Clint Barton

Natasha’s little hideaway apartment she gets for keeps from SHIELD is surprisingly close to Stark Industries. Well, it's not exactly as surprising as it is creepy. The building in just the right location that you have a clean view of almost the entire Stark Industries building from the balcony. You actually have to wonder if this apartment complex had always been here, or did SHIELD put it here? You don’t mention it when you notice, but you’re sure Natasha knows that you found it a little disconcerting when she tossed you a smug smile over her shoulder as if to say _‘yeah all those months I spent infiltrating your company had been very real’_.

Natasha had talked about inviting you to her ‘apartment’ every now and then, saying how she doesn’t really like being out in public and prefers a stereotypical glass of vodka on the balcony of her apartment. She’d even casually mention how she usually has some  _Chardonnay_  around as well, but when she last mentioned the _Chardonnay_ bit she still had long curly hair, went by the name 'Natalie', and seemed to somewhat be flirting with you. You weren’t sure after the whole fiasco if it was a ruse or not.

Apparently, she does trust you enough to invite you to her apartment though, so you were happy enough with that. You were humming with excitement for about five minutes until she added over the phone that someone else would be there too. Someone was waiting for the publicity to blow over in, where was it, New Mexico, and was rooming with her. So yeah. That takes away the fun of it being just the two of you in her apartment. Not like you had really wanted that or anything. You're old enough to know better then that.

When you get there, based on instructions she gave you the day prior, Natasha answers the door in just seconds. Her hair mused up and the most minimal amount of lipstick on, in quite _cozy,_ fitted black jeans, a slightly big white shirt, and a pair of ballerina flats. You _barely_ contain the need to just hug her. Spies shouldn’t be this huggable. She smiles, eyes twinkling with hidden knowledge again, which leaves you kind of flustered. You hold out a bottle of something, you don't remember what you grabbed from Tony's stock, all you knew was that you'd asked JARVIS for an impressive but not too expensive one. Not that you cared about the price. You just didn't want to seem too eager. Tony owed it to you anyways.

Natasha accepts it, leaning against the door with her hip cocked to the side. Her eyes scan the bottle, " _Chateau Latour Pauillac_ , 1994 vintage." Her eyebrow ticks up, for a second, before she shoots you a smile. You hope to god she can't see on your face how much her speaking French ruined you. "Is Stark aware you took this?"

Clearing your throat, you shrug, "Tony doesn't even know his own social security number." You wave your hands in a shooing motion, "Take it, it's fine. You can consider it a house warming gift. Or a 'thanks for saving Tony' gift, the time will come again I'm sure."

Natasha makes a face that seems to scream 'god no not again' and the laugh that bubbles past your lips seems to shock both of you. She chuckles some, just a bit, and literally the only thing that could make this day better would be if you actually got to kiss her. She waves you inside with her bottle-free hand, and then the door opens a little wider and you notice this hunk of a man laying sprawled on the couch in just boxers and a t-shirt. Your good mood has been knocked down at least ten pegs. There was only five to begin with.  

He notices you and sits up slightly, looking some what bewildered. His eyes seem to flicker between yourself and Natasha about a dozen times before he says, "You didn't tell me we were having company, 'Tasha. I thought it was just some parcels guy." His voice is flat, and heavy, though while he's serious, you can see a hint of a smile on his face. It irks you.

“It’s my apartment, why would I need to warn you first?” Natasha shoots back in the same tone of voice, smiling at you out the corner of her eye before closing the door behind both of you.

“Because I have nothing but my knickers on?”

“Only old women should call them knickers.”

“I’m the one wearing them, I’ll call them what I want.”  
  
Great they even have a playful banter thing going on, even though it is slightly creepy since they do it in a way where it looks like they’re discussing the importance of life. 

Your chest burns, and your stomach drops. Yeah. Jealousy. You know for a fact after the first few nights escorting Tony’s one-night-stands out of the building, that was before you got used to it. And just like getting used to that you’re going to have to get used to this, or that's what you think anyways. Thank god you’re used to bitter disappointment and wearing a mask. The man gets up, and you can see each and every muscle flex, and okay, this is going pretty well so far kind of. He walks towards you, extends his hand.

“I’m Clint Barton, an Agent for SHIELD as well as Tasha’s keeper.”

You stare at him for a second to try and gauge how serious he’s being, his face gives away no joke. The fact he even has a nickname for the short red-head, and then added some stupid title, is also another separate pang to your soul but you try not to dwell on it. His face looks currently like he’s planning your demise, so you decide to plaster a big happy smile on your face and you extend your hand to him. He barely reaches your height, and you’d be lying if you said you didn’t like the height advantage, but you aren’t unaware of your flaws, one of which is liking to appear in control of situations that you know you’re not.

Natasha watches you closely, as if wondering how you’ll handle this Clint Barton, all two hundred plus bulging manly muscles, chiseled chin, and sexy voice. Not well, she doesn’t need to know that you feel threatened. All you have is a slight crush, no need to get not-exactly-girlfriend crazy like you did with Tony all those years back.

Clint’s hand is bigger and tougher then yours, calluses press to your palm and if you weren’t currently having a bit of a girl crush on Natasha you’d probably fall for him. All SHIELD men seem to excrete this overwhelming sexiness that you adore, controlled power and confidence oozing out of them, reminding you a lot of Phil.

Friendly reminder a 5'4ft red head seems to just ooze those same fantastically sexy qualities, plus more packed into that amazingly stunning body, thank you very much.

“Virginia Potts, head of Stark Industries at the moment, as well as Natasha’s friend.” Your voice it strong, your shoulders are thrown back, you won’t show that you feel intimidated by him nor will you back down even when you feel him squeeze your hand a little too hard.

You try not to show how childishly bubbly and happy you are at being able to say the ‘friend’ bit. You get the feeling Natasha doesn’t have many people she can call friends, or well,  _let_ call her a friend, and when you cut a glance at her you notice a small smile playing on her lips and you know you’ve done well.

Clint lets your hand go and you immediately drop the hand to your side, your smile doesn’t waver even as he looks you unabashedly up and down, “You know, 'Tasha told me you practically own Stark Industries. I had been expecting someone more snobby.”

“Surprise, surprise.”

Your confidence has always managed to have pegs knocked down; you don’t think you’ll ever get snobby when living with someone such as Tony Stark. All that man does is make you see what you never want to become and it’s pretty easy to keep level headed. You wonder if that’s something that Natasha secretly likes about you.

Clint’s lip twitches up some, and you’re not overreacting when you feel slightly uncomfortable under his gaze, especially when his eyes cut to Natasha and go back to you. He leans over and wraps a muscular arm around Natasha’s petite shoulders, the red-head leans into him and he grins. You envision slamming the wine bottle over his big, fat, over inflated head. “I think I’m going to like you.” You smile kindly at this sentiment, but don’t return it because currently this man is doing exactly what you wouldn’t mind doing in Natasha’s life. Calling her nicknames, strolling lazily around in underwear and randomly hugging her.

Maybe not so much the underwear part. Okay. Only if she joins in.

The movie starts, and you rather gracefully fall backwards into a chair just as Natasha stands and presses out her shirt, “I’m going to go grab something from the kitchen, anyone want anything?”

You’re pretty sure Natasha stayed just to make sure you were comfortable during Clint’s introduction and you feel warm at the thought. You smile at her, even though she’s staring longingly into her kitchen, “No, thank you.”

“I’m good too.”

When she’s far away enough out of hearing range, popping kernels in the microwave, you let your eyes stray to her every now and then, even though it’s ridiculous and she can probably feel your stare like a little burn across her skin. Spies always know when someone is watching them right? It should be acceptable, you're friends, and she left you with some guy in his underwear. You can use that as an excuse, you think as you stare almost blatantly at her ass. Clint chooses then to clear his throat.

“Natasha isn’t too quick on the uptake probably; she’ll figure you out eventually though. I mean that's what we do, figure out what you love and stab it with a scalpel.”

You're not sure how to react, especially when Clint then pretends to stab something. He knows? Well, yeah, it sounds like he knows. You try to keep confident, all those business meetings where you've kept poker faces. It should be simple. But this is different. This isn't work, this isn't about other things, it's about you, and the pretty red head standing only a couple feet away.

Clint looks at you, as if knowing what you're thinking, and how you're trying to play it off, and he just sort of wiggles his eyebrow, “You might be able to get past red there, but you've got another thing coming with me.”

Your face kind of chooses then to warm and flush, delicately, the heat starts at your cheek bones and kind of melts down to your collar, “God, am I that obvious?” You barely squeak out, terrified Natasha might hear.

“No, not really, kind of, yeah, a lot.” He nods, shrugging his shoulders, and you just get the feeling he and Tony would be great friends. “I mean, I kind of felt like you wanted to kill me earlier.”

“W-what! I did--” He makes a loud 'shh' noises, scaring you backwards, what with his voice and his face suddenly going stony. Before you can complain, you hear a kettle whistle, and you realize he was probably stopping you to avoid any further embarrassment.

He points to the movie, and you sigh, nodding, focusing on the tv, feeling your blush slowly disappear. Not even a few minutes later, Natasha comes back out, holding a tea cup, and a bag of popcorn. She pauses in front of you, and you wonder what she wants, but she merely offer you the tea cup. You take it, slowly, unsure of what it is.

“Camomile, you just got off of work, it'll help you relax.” She smiles slightly, and you feel this feeling just, well up in your chest. It's so tight, and over bearing, you think you might just fling the cup at Clint's head. Or, well, wait, no. You have this need to just get up and hug her, but instead you bring the cup to your lips and take a sip. It doesn't even matter you don't really like tea.

“Thank you.” You try to keep your eyes on hers, but they stray to Clint's face behind her, and he's making weird faces. Like. ... Kissy-faces.

You wonder what kind of trouble is going to happen, with this Clint around now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I s2g no one is as bothered by the mistakes as I am. I wrote the damn thing, how are all of these slipping past spell check.  
> I really want to write a serious BlackPepper, with a lot less humor. I just need to think of a plot...


End file.
